Rachel Cantor - A Highly Unlikely Scenario, or a Neetsa Pizza Employee's Guide to Saving the World

It’s not so bad, he said.

You’re wrong, Sally said.

Leonard shrugged.

Did you see Zedekiah? He was outside the inn, watching.

You sure? Sally said. I don’t think so.

Leonard shrugged again, then told Sally to look away as he went behind a column to change into his pilgrim’s clothes. She sat down on a marble step, her toe tracing the cobblestones.

I dropped my inflatable pocket, Leonard said from behind the column.

Oh, great! Sally said. There goes our supply of grasshopper legs, and your change of clothes, and my string and hold-alls.

I didn’t mean to drop it, Leonard said.

But you did, Sally replied.

Yes, Leonard agreed, I did.

Now what’re we going to do?

Leonard didn’t know. The loss of Sally’s string didn’t seem a terrible thing — compared with flaying, say, or having one’s head clamped in a vise — but maybe that’s not what she meant. He joined her on the marble step.

What happened back there? he asked. At the inn? Why all the commotion?

Bobolo was charging coins to see the miracle of the navigator watch. Pilgrims were queuing down the road — you saw them, right? I guess someone decided it was dangerous.

Ah, Leonard said.

It was rapidly darkening, and quiet now, the street empty.

I let you down, Sally said.

What?

It was my idea to give Bobolo the navigator watch. I thought it was funny. I almost got us killed.

No way! It was a great idea!

Yeah? We’re missing half our stuff, we have no lucre, we’re in the middle of a city we don’t know, following a riddle we’re not sure we understand.

Leonard took her hand.

We’ll figure it out. We won’t let Felix down. We’ll find the river. We’ll find Felix.

And if we find a river? What then? Sally said to her leather slippers. How will that help us find Felix?

Leonard pondered that. Pythagoras had once addressed a river, which spoke back to him: Hail, Pythagoras! it said. But Leonard was no Pythagoras, nor would Hail, Leonard! help them much.

Isaac said to look for signs, he said. We’ll look for signs.

I’m not so good at that.

Sure you are! You understood that we were in danger, right?

Where are we going to sleep tonight, Leonard? This place gives me the creeps.

We’ll find something. Don’t worry. How about we eat something?

Sally rummaged in her clutchbag.

All we have is some bridies and a few ham stix, she said.

We’d better wait, then, Leonard said.

It’s almost night. Where are we supposed to go?

Leonard didn’t want to worry Sally, but in his view, a lack of food, coin, lodging, and friends was the least of their worries: there was also the man with the boots.

We need to be somewhere where we won’t be conspicuous, Leonard said. A crowded place, where we won’t be noticed.

Can you ask your friend Isaac for help?

He doesn’t come when I call, Leonard said. He likes to surprise me.

There must be something you can do!

Leonard thought about how Isaac had contacted him in the past: on the telephone, in a dream, prancing on Leonard’s wall or screen. He wouldn’t speak unless or until he was sure Leonard was paying attention. Then he berated him for not listening properly.

I have to listen, Leonard said. That’s what I have to do.

Signs and wonders

I’ll start by practicing echemythia , Leonard said, Pythagorean meditation. It won’t take but a minute, and he scooched up a step or two till he was sitting on the portico floor, his legs pretzeled, his eyes closed. He began by imagining he was wearing white in a White Room; he took a deep breath, then another. And ignored, or tried to ignore, the mosquito on his neck, then twisted his neck a bit, to get rid of the mosquito, then slapped it, then slipped into silence. Deep silence, Pythagorean silence, except for the sound of some Franks, a man and a woman, approaching along the cobblestoned road.

They were evil, the woman was saying.

I’m not sure that they were, the man said.

I tell you, they were evil. With their heresies and strange questions.

A problem with translation, I’m sure.

They were walking straight past Leonard and Sally but in the darkness did not see them.

Are we going the right way?

Absolutely, the man said.

That eel was not quite fresh, the Frankish woman said.

We can change hostelleries tomorrow, the man said.

It’s awfully quiet, dearest. They said St. Peter’s was busy and loud, with all the dirty pilgrims sleeping there.

It is but minutes away. Cross the bridge and left at the fortress. I am told we cannot miss it.

You have no idea where we are.

You can smell the censers from here, my love.

Their voices faded. Sally pinched Leonard’s thigh.

Did you hear that? she whispered.

I was trying not to, Leonard whispered back, opening his eyes and shifting out of his pretzel, to the great relief of his knees.

It was a sign! Sally said. Bridge, river, crowded place where pilgrims sleep: they told us where to go!

Excellent! Leonard said, though he wasn’t sure of that, he wasn’t sure at all.

The torches of a thousand pilgrims

They gathered their few belongings and began walking down the lane, looking for a bridge to a fortress. The darkness was absolute, as there was no street lighting, no Hello! lamps on Everything’s-Okay poles anywhere.

Do you have your personal beta-version collapsible beacon?

You mean, the hat I designed based on Baconian optics?

You designed that?

Of course!

Yes, I mean that collapsible beacon.

Gone, Sally said. Maybe I left it at the hostellery.

Leonard smiled: it wasn’t only he who had left things behind.

That’s alright, he said. He would have taken her hand had the road been wide enough.

Look! he said, and pointed — at more stars than either had ever seen in a sky.

Nice, Sally said, without enthusiasm.

There’s the Neetsa Pizza logo. See? The triangle with the pepperoni? Next to the Heraclitan flame?

Sally nodded.

Ironic, considering how the Heraclitans hate us — Oh! he said, lifting his nose into the air. Can you smell that?

I smell compost — and in fact, they’d passed a vacant lot teeming with mounds of it.

No, it’s something else.

What? Sally asked.

Smell with your left nostril. It’s the river, it has to be! Over there!

They turned a corner onto a larger road and there it was! Leonard had to restrain himself from running to the bridge, which they could see dimly a half a verst ahead.

The Franks were right, because as Leonard and Sally approached the bridge they could see not just the fortress but, across the river and to the left, a magnificent basilica, lit bright — by the torches of a thousand pilgrims.

The river

They were no longer alone: Romans and pilgrims streamed by, converging in groups of two, three, or more from various roads and lanes. Some were ill and barely balanced themselves on wooden crutches, which got caught between the cobbles; others were pulled along in wheelbarrows. A few sang fervently but with little regard to Pythagorean tuning, their eyes fixed on the basilica. A Swedish woman with white hair fell to her knees and cried out to Saint Eric.

I’ve never seen a river before, have you? Leonard asked.

Sally shook her head.

Do you want to look?

Not particularly, Sally said.

Please?

They stepped away from the road and walked about ten cubits to the riverbank. To the right, they could see the white stone bridge with its five great arches. To the left another twenty cubits, strange floating structures, the purpose of which Leonard could not discern.

It’s awfully muddy down here, Sally said.